138 Bastille days
by cuckoo clover
Summary: As the capital of France and his brother, Paris always wanted to make each Bastille day special.


_**Write a fic for Bastille day, I said. It won't be long, I said.**_

 _ **André- Paris**_

* * *

Every year during Bastille day, the French cities and provinces hold a birthday party at France's apartment. As so, Paris was in charge of organising the whole day. Though being a capital, it meant that he had a little more national and international affairs work to complete, so when he arrives, usually most of the organisation was complete.

When Paris entered the apartment, he greeted his fellow representatives, and scanned the area. Friendly banter filled the area as the cities and provinces worked, mostly putting on the decorations. By the time he arrived at the apartment, balloons and streamers in the shade of the Tricolore already decorated the whole place. Paris huffed— always the same red, white and blue shades, huh? But hey, it was Bastille day, what else did he expect?

A fellow city placed some champagne glasses on the table, a cake with the French flag sitting proudly on the centre, an unopened bottle of champagne beside it. Assorted gifts, such as liquors and food items lied under the table, as well as the odd pot plant and clothes. He recognised who had brung them based on their regional origins— the pastis came from Marseilles, the Bordeaux wine came from Bordeaux (who else), the beer came from one of the Northern cities, and that apple cider definitely came from Brittany. Perhaps the truffle oil came from Lyon, but it might had come from Provence. The rest… well, he'll figure it out later, he had a party to organise.

He checked on the work of the other representatives. Whether it was decorating or preparing meals and the such. Making sure that every element was satisfactory until-

"Hey, Francis' in the driveway!" Marseilles called out as she leaned over the balcony. It was the afternoon when he had arrived. Wow time flew fast. Paris edged in closer, and saw France's car on the street.

"Careful, Marseilles," Paris called out, urging her to inch back. "Remember the surprise in surprise party, d'accord?" Francis knew that he will be greeted by a surprise party. After all, they had been doing this for several years by now. But André enjoyed preserving the suspension of disbelief: it was fun, and no one's complaining. He clapped his hands as he turned around. "Alright, everyone, to your positions!"

He switched the lights off, and back on again when Francis opened the door. Everyone jumped out and yelled the customary _bon anniversaire_ , a kazoo somehow sneaking into the background. Francis laughed, and thanked them all, like he did every year, as half the representative flocked around him to properly greet him, the other half digging into the refreshments already. Paris laughed.

Music played, food was eaten, alcohol was drunk as they exchanged friendly banter. Before they knew it, the dusk melted into the evening, and some of them were tipsy from excess alcohol. Paris noticed Francis standing outside on the balcony, the golden Eiffel Tower contrasting the inky sky. He moved forward.

"So, the fireworks are going to start soon!" André brought up as he leaned forward, the balcony's stone railings cool against his elbows. Francis nodded, and hummed in agreement.

"Yep, probably the best part of Bastille day." He sighed in content, and drank the rest of his champagne while André nodded in agreement.

"The worst part would be the cleaning up." André looked behind him, and by then, most of the representatives were fully tipsy. "Ugh, _wow_ clean up's a bitch every year!" They laughed.

"Uh-huh." He breathed out. "Heh. Remember that year when someone brought in hair dye and somehow we all had our hair dyed blue in the morning?" Paris chortled.

"It was even that gross cartoony blue too!" He laughed. "Well, could be worse. What if someone brought in that cartoony neon green hair dye?" Francis scrunched up his face in disgust as he stuck his tongue out.

"Ugh, yeah, that'd be worse. Though it wouldn't show as much for darker hair."

"Uh-huh." Paris slicked back his own hazelnut brown hair. "Yeah, with the blue hair dye, it just made my hair look black."

Francis put his hand over his heart. "Thank God." Paris stroked his chin.

"I think someone was trying to dye our hair in the colours of the Tricolore too. But thank God we were too drunk to do the red and white stripes."

"You know, if we did try that, we would've look like we've got toothpaste for hair."

"Well, it'd be easier to sneak into a toothpaste commercial!" They laughed as they patted each others' backs.

A pop distracted them, and they looked ahead. Fireworks in a myriad of colours burst across the Parisian nighttime sky, colouring and lighting it up so that the rest of Paris was a silhouette to its light.

"Oh, the fireworks have begun!"

Some fellow representatives inched forward to the balcony to watch, some stayed behind and continued to party. But the whistles, sparkles, and pops of the fireworks were all they payed attention to as they performed.

"Always a spectacle every year, isn't it?" Francis nodded in agreement. "Oh, and that reminds me!" André reached into his suit pocket for his gift while Francis looked with curiosity.

It was a small package, no bigger than a paperback book, and no thicker than one, either. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"You know, you could've put it with the other gifts."

"Exactly." André grinned.

"Hm, is it really that important?" He asked, a sliver of cheekiness in his voice.

"Open it up and you'll find out." Francis nodded, and he peeled the tape back, making sure not to damage the wrapping paper. The gift was a framed photo that André had found while cleaning his apartment. After Francis finished unwrapping the gift, a small gasp escaped him.

"This is-"

"The first Bastille day, 1880." André leaned over to look. It was an old photograph, taken at the Place de la Bastille, the July column standing proudly behind them. In it, Francis wore a proud, happy smile with an arm draped behind André's neck, who had a smaller smile.

"Hm. I thought I lost this photograph forever!"

"Eh, there's a lot of junk in my apartment, you'd probably find some missing paintings there." He gave out a sheepish chuckle. "Anyway! That photograph's around…" he made some quick calculations. "138 years old now! Wow. 138 years since the first Bastille day. Wow. Doesn't time fly fast?"

"Too fast, sometimes." He sighed as he leaned against the balcony. Francis lifted the photograph up, and a smile crept up his face. "Say, you needn't to hoard this until tonight to give it back to me, André," he teased. Said person shrugged.

"Aww, come on! I want to make my Bastille day gifts special!" Francis gave out a happy sigh.

"You know I love you all year round, you're like a brother to me!" André widened his eyes with surprise. He had to give himself a second to compose himself. To have Francis say that to him with such sincerity… shucks, it made him all giddy inside.

"Again, I want to make every Bastille day special. Leave me and my dramatic timing out of this, would you?" He crossed his arms as he watched Francis smile, before he sighed. "Truth is, I don't know where I'd be without you. I can't exactly imagine myself in a position where I'm not the capital of France. Maybe I'd just be a small ironworking town by the Seine, nothing more, nothing less, I couldn't be who I am today without you. I'm proud of how far we've come since our roots. Together." A small smile stretched across his face. He always said something similar to this every year, yet he found that it never lost its tenderness nor intimacy. "I love you too, Francis."

The final firework popped, the smell of gunpowder scratching their nostrils as the breeze drifted it back. "So." André stuck out his hand. "Here's to a hundred and thirty eight more Bastille days! Bon anniversaire, République française."

Francis smiled back, and shook it. "Bonne fête nationale, Ville de Paris." He stifled a laugh. "Aww, shucks, what's with the formality all of a sudden?" To André's surprise, Francis embraced him in a tight hug. The tight coil of emotions sprung free, and some stray tears came out. When Francis let go, he raised an eyebrow, and pulled out his handkerchief.

"André, are you crying?"

"Of happiness, there's a difference." After he dried his eyes, he patted Francis on the shoulder, and brushed it. He couldn't imagine himself without the influence of Francis. His history had been so intertwined with that of France's, it was hard to imagine his life without him. Where would he be otherwise? He was grateful to always be by Francis' side, and he hoped that he will be for decades to come. 138 more Bastille days it is. "Now, come inside, it's time to cut the cake."

* * *

 _ **Wow, this is like the most tooth rotting fluff I've ever written.**_

 _ **Happy Bastille day!**_

 _ **D'accord- ok**_

 _ **Bon anniversaire- happy birthday**_

 _ **Bonne fête nationale- happy Bastille day**_


End file.
